


The Kids From Yesterday

by mmmelmoth



Series: song-steered Parksborn stories [3]
Category: Spider-Man (Video Game 2018), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Best Friends to Lovers, Dystopia, Gwen or MJ don't exist in this version ok, How Do I Tag, Inspired by Music, Just heartbreak, Love and Appreciation, M/M, Mutual Pining, No toxic masculinity here, Parksborn, Peter Parker is Spider-Man, Soft Bros, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, but I'm giving credit so it's not really stealing, danger days, injuries, my chemical romance - Freeform, my emo phase will never be over and this is a reminder of that, stolen lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-06 11:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmelmoth/pseuds/mmmelmoth
Summary: There's no time like a nationwide blackout to hang out with your best friend whom you have a crush on. In which Spider-Man has his web-shooting hands more than full and Peter Parker chooses the wrong (or right) time to admit his feelings.





	1. I'll find you when the sun goes black

Darkness wasn’t so unusual. The sun set every day and came back up the next morning again. Everybody killed the lights before going to bed. But there’s a regularity and control to it that calms the average human mind. Most of us stopped being afraid of the dark upon growing up, sooner or later.

This primeval fear was reawakened within most of Modern America’s population on a Thursday night, around ten PM. Showers stopped running mid-song. Ovens left tomorrow’s bread half-baked. Street lanterns died without a flicker and caused more than one girl to pull her jacket a little tighter and walk faster, thinking all of this was a freak coincidence rather than an attack, until they realized that none of the lights in the city that never sleeps were burning. No windows, no lamps, no electric advertisement. The absence of a flickering, or any hint of everything just being a technical malfunction, gave the events a bitter, eerie taste. Some ran to the nearest store right then, buying containers of water and canned vegetables. Others went to sleep without wasting much thought on the circumstances, believing everything would be back to normal when they woke up. It wasn’t.

 

Spider-Man was busy as soon as the panic rushed in. Webbing up crashed cars, showing lost old ladies to their apartments they couldn’t see, or kicking the shit out of the fellow New-Yorkers who figured this would be a good time to just rob all the banks, it wasn’t until Friday morning that Peter swung back into bed just for a minute – until his eyes fell on the flickering notifications on his phone. Three missed calls from… Sleep didn’t seem so important any more, he was sitting up in no time and already calling back. “Harry?”

“Peter! I’m so glad to hear your voice. I thought I had the wrong number….” His best friend at the other end of the line sounded stressed enough. So Peter asked: “Are you okay? Did something happen to you with everything that’s going on?”

“All things considered, I’m fine, I just- My dad’s out of town. I’m used to having the house to myself, but depending on how long this’ll last, I don’t know.” _I didn’t know who else to turn to_ is what Harry doesn’t say out loud.

“Of course. I can come by, we’ll figure something out. May never minds having you around.” Peter didn’t have to think about his offer even once, which was most assuring to Harry. He could feel himself relax ever so slightly. It was hard to pretend he hadn’t been up all night, trying to get all sorts of technological devices working again, then checking how long he would last off the food that was in the house right now. The answer wasn’t satisfying. As it turned out, he relied on restaurants and deliveries way too much.

“Thanks, Pete.” Harry replied with relief, allowing himself to sit down on his couch, “You don’t have to hurry for me.” That’s when his phone died.

 

Peter arrived nonetheless ten minutes later, in spite of the streets being mired in chaos. He must’ve been nearby, then. Harry didn’t bother to pretend he hadn’t been waiting for the doorbell. “Thanks for coming.” He greeted Peter, pushing away the need to apologize.

“It’s good to see you, man.” It was Peter who pulled him into a hug. Soon enough afterwards they were making their way through Brooklyn, which was flooded with people carrying heavy shopping bags full of groceries, and honking cars.

“May already put clean sheets on the couch in my room for you. Like the old days.” Peter seemed exhausted, yet upbeat, “She’s got her hands full working at the shelter, which is beyond overcrowded. But she said there’s enough supplies in the house to last a few weeks. Lucky us.” He stopped to look at Harry.

“This’ll probably be over in no time anyway.” The hazel-haired boy replied, hands in his pockets, “On the last newsflash I saw they said it’s nationwide, which means with the amount of specialists they got working on this it can’t take that long to find a solution.”

“Yeah.” Peter didn’t look convinced, but changed the subject: “Do you want to talk about your Dad?”

At that, Harry only snorted: “Do I ever?”

 

May wasn’t home when they arrived. The small house was clean, and smelled like homemade food. Like every time he enters, it feels like an alien world to Harry. It seemed funny to him how his father had assumed that expensive interior decorating could replace the need for a warm, homey atmosphere.

At this point in their friendship, Peter didn’t even warn Harry any more that his room was going to be a little messy. They stepped inside, and the fact that every little detail screamed _Peter Parker_ was incredibly relaxing to Harry. An empty mug with the chemical formula for coffee on it. A vintage computer picked up from someone else’s electronic waste. The self-built remote-control locks for the door. Harry breathed in deeply.

“Are you going to tell me I smell? Cause trust me, I’m working on it, but doing laundry is harder than expected.” Peter joked.

“You don’t smell. And I relate to the laundry thing. At least you have May to teach you how to adult!” Only the two of them could lead a conversation this light while the world around them was collapsing. It must have been the force of habit, being around each other.

Peter seemed to realize just that. “May asked me to run a few errands before she gets back. Could you give me an hour or something? Just get installed, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Sure! Just go, I don’t need you to babysit me.” _Though it would be nice not to be alone. Though I forgot to bring any of my stuff. Though –_ “See you later.” Harry grinned bravely.

He felt a little overwhelmed when Peter gave him the most sincere smile back, and he barely registered the red fabric peeking out of his best friend’s pocket.


	2. Every person that you need to be

Before it was even close to getting dark again, Peter came home to Harry. His hair was dishevelled; a few fresh bruises decorated his cheekbones. Harry dropped the borrowed comic-book he’d been reading to the bed and shuffled up. “Shit, Pete, what happened?” Before he even knew what he was doing, he gently ran his fingers along the discoloured skin. And Peter didn’t flinch back. “I just, I ran into some thugs. I didn’t have anything on me that they would’ve wanted, so the encounter was over before it started. It’s nothing. Don’t tell May.” The story didn’t hold much truth, but Peter just hoped Harry wouldn’t notice.

“I don’t have to tell her. These babies speak for themselves.” Harry observed, slowly pulling back his hand.

“You know what I mean, Har. I don’t need her to worry _more_.”

“If that’s the case, we could always help out. I’m sure they can’t have enough volunteers at the Shelter at the moment.” Before the thought was completely formed, it had already passed Harry’s lips, “I’d actually like to be doing something of value right now.” His eyes wandered back to the comic.

“Harry, that’s brilliant. We can head down to F.E.A.S.T. right now!” Peter’s chocolate eyes lit up.

“Man, you’ve always been a sucker for philanthropy.” Harry smiled to himself and grabbed a jacket, and only a moment later they were out of the door.

 

“Harry! It’s nice to see you, you look so handsome!” May quickly turned away from the table where she was filling plastic bowls with soup for an ever-growing queue of strangers to cup the face of the person she’d been treating like a son all along. “And you look amazing as always, May.” Harry gave her a warm smile, “But I didn’t come to just exchange compliments. We figured you could use some help around here.”

“Harry figured.” Peter corrected from behind.

“You’re not wrong!” May exhaled, brushing her bangs out of her eyes, “Go get some gloves and aprons over there. Martin will tell you where to best start.” The boys went into the direction she’d pointed into.

“You’re her favourite.” Peter nudged Harry with a smirk.

“She adores me, you’re right. But you, she loves.” When their eyes met, Harry looked somehow taken aback and peaceful at once. It was just the short sting of pain his friend was feeling then that Peter couldn’t identify.

Martin Li equipped them with flashlights among other things, and briefed them in a hurry where they should install more sleeping areas. Without asking many more questions, they went to work. For the first time in a while, Harry actually felt good about himself, which might be worrying considering the circumstances. Or maybe it was just the genuine smile Peter kept flashing at him across the room, that utter dork.

 

“Hey.” Harry sounded out of breath when he opened the door to the maintenance closet Peter was browsing through. “How’s it going?” Pete asked, making room for his best friend. The door snapped shut, enclosing them in the rather narrow, sparsely lit space. “I need more mattresses.” Harry explained, barely looking up to smile at Peter. The brown-haired boy pointed him in the right direction: “There in the back. I’m looking for more plastic cups, but…” Exasperatedly, he shook his head, “We might be out.” Having picked up the required mattresses, Harry finally looked up. “I saw a bunch of unused ones stacked up next to the stairwell. Maybe they’re still there.” Peter looked like he wasn’t even paying attention any more, suddenly mesmerized by the lighting and something on Harry’s face. He cleared his throat. “Maybe. I’ll check. Thanks.”

“Are you okay? You seem drained.” Harry disguised whatever he was feeling then as worry. Once again, his fingers shot up to Peter’s face: “Better make sure these are not throbbing.” The bruises felt hot underneath his touch. Was this regular best-friend behaviour?

“I’m okay.” Peter assured him, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “There’s just so much to do. I can’t be more than one person at once, that’s all.”

Harry clutched his mattresses. “One person’s enough. We’re helping here, or at least that’s what it feels like to me.”

“I know you’re right. I just… I’ll get those cups now.” Peter said, but didn’t make any attempts to move. Harry, too, was lingering unnecessarily.

Until Pete cleared his throat. “Now.” He repeated, and hastily left the closet.

 

The next time Harry scanned the room for his best friend’s uplifting smile, he couldn’t find it anywhere. And while he figured Peter was just taking a long bathroom break, Spider-Man was swinging from figurative hot spots to literal hot spots, dousing out fires wherever he could, not stopping once to catch his breath.

 

“What have I ever done to you?” Spider-Man shouted, dodging a heavy swing and receiving no answer from his green-armoured opponent, “Can’t a man do his job? I’m just trying to stop the mayhem in the streets, sir!” He kept talking as long as he wasn’t out of breath yet, but the other fellow showed little interest in the conversation. That was until Spider-Man webbed his strange metallic spike to a wall, followed by both of his hands. “What do you call yourself? Green Bee-Man? The costume’s questionable, dude.”

Wordlessly, the man strained against his bonds. Spider-Man watched him from a few steps away, then threw his hands up in the air.

“Now I see it! Scorpion, that’s it! Right?”

On cue, Scorpion freed his spike and sent it towards Spider-Man’s heart. Dodging it the last second, he got away with a medium to deep scrape over his chest. “Come on!” He tried to overplay the pain as best as he could, “Why can’t we just get along?”

For the first time, Scorpion answered: “Boss wants you off the streets.” With that, he popped the remaining webs.

Under his breath, Peter swore and murmured, “These usually last longer.” He pulled himself up on a web to attack from above and escape the razor sharp spike. “So there’s a boss, huh? Tell me about him!”

In return, Scorpion only hissed. So Peter continued the conversation by himself. “Of course there’s a boss. Who was I to assume all the electricity in America just takes a weekend off without there being a big bad behind it all? I’m offering you this deal: You tell me who it is and I’ll stop beating you up so mercilessly.” Spider-Man took two consecutive punches to the face, which made him briefly see stars, and the side of the spike threw him into the nearest wall. “I see how it is now.” He murmured to himself, briefly lifting the mask to spit out some blood. Within seconds, he was up again, painfully swinging himself up to fly at the Scorpion from behind, trying to choke his mask off with his calves while holding off the spike with a free hand.

This had to be the world’s least fun rodeo. The Scorpion stumbled forwards, into another wall, and Peter used the opportunity to knock his opponent’s head into it again. Groans came out from underneath the other’s mask, and when Peter violently threw himself back, both of them fell. The spike cracked. So did one of Pete’s ribs. Nonetheless, he jumped up and webbed his foe to the ground, only then giving himself a moment to breathe.

“Vermin!” The Scorpion spat. Moving quite clumsily due to his injuries, Peter finally managed to remove the green-ish mask. “Huh. I don’t know you.” He realized.

“I’m Mac Gargan, not that it matters. You’ll be dead soon.” The man’s face contorted.

Spider-Man shrugged it off. “You won’t be the one to do the deed, Mr. Gargan. You’ll be on the ground right here, so …enjoy.” He limped out of the alley. Police sirens echoed and he knew there were many places where he was needed, yet it took all of his effort not to collapse on the spot.


	3. They only care if you can bleed

Peter knocked on his own window. Harry lay on his bed in borrowed sweatpants, seeming exhausted. He shot upwards as soon as he heard the noise. When he spotted Peter at the window, he didn’t hesitate to pull it open.

“Thanks. I couldn’t use the front door.” Pete’s breaths were ragged.

Only then Harry realized the blood on his face, the red suit sticky with it as well. All he could do was stare. Peter was…?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out like that.” More like _I didn’t mean for you to find out at all_.

In spite of himself, Harry grabbed Peter’s arm. “Let’s get you inside. Let’s get you seated.” It seemed impossible to process all of this, especially since his mind was spinning because of all the blood… Peter…

“What happened to you?” Harry managed to press out once they both sat on the bed, Peter still slightly leaning onto him.

“I got into a fight, but… I found out there’s someone behind this. Behind the blackout.” It had been a few minutes since the sun set, and only now the lack of light really shifted into reality.

Harry swallowed hard, feeling panic rise in his chest. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix you.”

It didn’t help that Peter still sounded like each breath took an insane amount of effort and pain. “Could you… get me the disinfectant from the bathroom? Some towels? And don’t let May find out.”

“She doesn’t know?”

“I don’t think so.”

When Harry reluctantly got up, Peter grabbed his hand and brought out a raspy “Thank you.” All he could do was nod and keep back the tears.

 

He wasted as little time as possible gathering everything his best friend needed. When he got back into the room, Peter had shifted into a lying position, and his eyes were closed. For a second, Harry feared he might have died. “Peter?” His own voice was quivering.

But Pete’s doe eyes opened. “Hey.” He replied smoothly.

“You’re scaring me.” Harry admitted, sitting down next to him and placing the towels and the disinfectant on the bed.

“I’m sorry.” Slowly dabbing the blood off his face, Peter even managed an apologetic smile.

“No. Please don’t apologize. You don’t owe that to anyone.” To his own surprise, Harry found himself smiling back ever so slightly, despite everything. He couldn’t even tell what was going on in his own head right now. Everything was scrambled.

“Could you give me a hand?” Pete’s voice brought him back to this reality, and Harry didn’t wait to find out with what before he answered. “Yes. Of course.”

And Peter started pulling at his suit, easing himself out if it. Harry took the fabric that was handed to him, he didn’t dare to do anything more than that.

His heart jumped up into his throat with every beat, and soon Peter was lying next to him in his boxers, a bloody gash in his chest that made the bruises on his face look like pastel makeup. Harry handed him a towel for the wound. It was soaked in cool water, and Pete’s muscles tensed when he touched it to the cut.

Even just a little, Harry flinched too. He didn’t know what to say or where to look. Of course Peter had to pick up on that. “None of this is fair to you, Har. You can go if you’re uncomfortable, just don’t tell – “

“I’m not uncomfortable. This is still you we’re talking about.” Harry interrupted, edging closer as if to prove a point.

“Still, this is a lot to deal with.” Peter attempted to argue, without effort: “You’ve been dealing with this by yourself up until now. The least I can do is share the load.” To check for hints of a lie on his friend’s face Pete hoisted himself up on his elbows, bringing himself on eye-level with Harry, who was just saying: “I can handle myself, Parker.” His voice ebbed away.

How was he the one feeling vulnerable when Peter’s chocolate eyes pierced his own, Peter, who was literally beaten up?

“I know you can.” And Peter arched his neck, gently kissing Harry’s lips. Harry was frozen. That moment, his mind simply stopped working. He almost expected error-notifications to pop up. Before he knew it, he’d missed the chance to kiss him back.

“Do we need to stitch you up?” Harry asked, stupidly. “Yes, maybe.” Pete replied, only missing a beat, “There’s a sewing kit in the top left drawer.” So Harry went to get it, not believing himself.

“You don’t have to do the stitching. I can do it myself.” Peter called from the bed.

“Put a towel in your mouth and keep still.” His confidence was fake, and when he sat down with the needle between his fingers, he couldn’t help but notice how much he was shaking. So he gently placed a hand on Peter’s stomach, and to his own surprise it helped to steady himself. His best friend’s breaths came regularly and deeply, and he replaced the thought _Peter has done this before, he has been this hurt before_ with _Peter trusts me enough to help him this time_. It took a lot out of him not to cringe each time he plunged the needle into Pete’s skin, and when it was over he didn’t stop himself from exhaling with relief. Cautiously, Peter turned around a little bit to try. “It feels better than it looks. Thanks.” He joked, dimples showing in his attempt to smile. “I’m not doing this again any time soon.” Harry wiped the sweat off his brow and found himself laughing too.

“Can you hand me a sweater?”

He did. By now it was dark outside, and thereby everywhere else, too. “I didn’t bring stuff from home, when you picked me up. But things still aren’t back to normal again.” Harry admitted. The room was filled with both of their slow breaths.

“If you want, we can go by your place and get whatever you need. Or you borrow some of – “ Peter didn’t finish when Harry interrupted with a concerned, yet hopeful spark in his eyes: “Are you sure you’re good to leave the house?” “Of course. I’m Spider-Man. Did you forget?” Peter’s grin made Harry’s stomach flutter, and minutes later they were slowly walking out of the front door.


	4. The last of all the rides we take

Never before had the stars shone so brightly over New York City. Moving through the dark almost felt like being underwater, never sure what creature lurked around the next corner. Not a lot of people were on the streets, though. If they were, they were just as blind as anyone else. Peter hadn’t brought a flashlight. He would’ve known the way to Harry’s in his sleep. So they went, like two separate bodies floating through time and space, unable to see one another. From time to time they kept brushing elbows just to reassure each other they were still there.

Because of this strange sensation of disconnectedness from the entire world, Harry dared to ask: “Why did you kiss me back then?” When he didn’t receive an answer, he bumped his shoulder into Pete’s.

Reluctantly, the other boy replied: “Because you were there for me.”

“You can’t just kiss everyone who’s there for you.” Harry’s tone was almost scolding.

“You’re not just everyone. You… you’ve always been there. Something changed in the way that makes me see you when I told you who I am. Does that make sense?” He could _hear_ Pete pull his shoulders up while saying the last part. His heart skipped a beat. “I never knew you were attracted to guys.” Was all he brought out.

“I’m attracted to _you_.”

They were there. The giant entrance loomed above them, bringing the conversation to a halt. Harry fiddled with his keys, then opened it for them. A cold wind seemed to blow into them from inside, as if the empty, dark mansion wasn’t creepy enough by itself. “Yikes.” Pete murmured.

“I have candles here somewhere.” Harry ran his fingers along the wall until he got to the café table in the living room, where he found a lighter as well. By the time the candles were lit, Peter had joined his side. “Are you just going to leave me hanging with what I said?” He asked quietly.

“I – “ A choked laugh escaped Harry’s mouth, “No, how could I? You’re the person I’ve always adored most, Pete. I just couldn’t believe how lucky I am.”

“You’re lucky, huh?” In the dimly lit room, Harry felt Peter come closer.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He grabbed for where he thought Peter’s collar would be and yanked him close. His open mouth met his best friend’s, and his stomach went insane. Remembering his fourteen year-old self watching Pete during breaks and crying in the bathroom because _that wasn’t how boys were supposed to look at their best friend, were they_ , he pressed himself closer against _freaking Spider-Man_ , he could check that of his fantasy list too, now. That’s when a door on the upper floor snapped shut. Harry flinched and Peter’s muscles tensed, he was alert. “Did you leave any windows open?” “No.” Harry gulped, “I double checked before leaving. Do you have your Spider-Suit?” He asked. Peter nodded. “Change. This place is break-in safe. We might need Spidey.” Harry ordered, stern all of a sudden, sweat creeping up his neck. Pete didn’t question him.

Slowly, Harry approached the stairwell, a candle in his hand.

“Son?” A voice called. That’s all it took for Harry’s confident face to fall. “Dad?” Suddenly he sounded like a child again, and he hated himself for it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the red of the Spider-Suit and signalled for him to wait. “What about your business trip?” Harry asked wearily. “My what?” replied Norman Osborn’s voice. He became visible on top of the stairwell.

“The reason you’re gone. Your _business trip_.” Hot wax was dripping into Harry’s hand, but he didn’t loose focus. On the contrary. His eyes were fixed onto the person he was facing, who he knew better than to trust. “There was no business trip, was there.” He didn’t phrase it like a question. Something dawned on him, ironically, in all of this darkness.

“Son.” Norman approached him like a dangerous animal.

But Harry went over him: “Don’t you want to know why I haven’t been home? Don’t you want to know how I’ve kept busy in all this mayhem in the past days? Don’t you – Oh, I remember now, you don’t give a shit. Let me tell you nonetheless. I helped people, Dad. I actually did something of value, not that this would mean something to you. People, masses or individuals alike, never have been something that could really interest you.”

“You’re not even letting me speak for myself, Harry. I came to see you.”

“You expect me to believe that? There’s a gun in your hand, Dad. You thought we were breaking in, because you forgot _this is my home too_. Funnily, I thought you were just housebreaker, too. God, I wish you were just that instead!” Harry spat.

Norman stopped where he was standing on the stairs. “Where is this all coming from?”

“You still haven’t put down the gun, Dad.” Harry’s voice was wary, it almost scared him because he felt capable of anything that moment. Years of avoided confrontation and passive aggression didn’t seem that important any more. “Don’t you trust your own son?”

“You know that’s nonsense. These are dangerous times, I’m trying to protect you.” Around the gun’s grip, Norman’s fingers turned white. He wasn’t used to not feeling in power, especially not in front of his own child, especially not whilst holding a weapon.

“Protect me? You left me alone in all of this shit, like you’ve left me before. You _forgot_ about me!” When Harry screamed the last part, he was taken aback by himself. By how much he sounded like his father, like someone not to be reasoned with.

He must’ve hit a nerve, because Norman didn’t miss a beat before shouting back: “I _did_ this for you!”

Harry’s head was throbbing. He gulped. “You did what, Dad?” The softly spoken words hang in the air between them for a while.

Norman’s face, illuminated by his own flashlight, betrayed that he’d already said more than he would’ve liked. His next words were vulnerable on purpose. “I used to be scared of the dark, you know.”

Disbelief colored Harry’s face white. “So you plunged the whole city into it? What for? Did you profit from this?” He was back to feeling like a child on a far too big stage, and he hated it.

“You’ll understand some day, son. It’s done now.” When Harry took a few steps forwards, Norman drew the gun. “Don’t move now, son.”

“Stop calling me that.” Dead in his tracks, Harry didn’t know what to do. What power did he have compared to someone who was responsible for a nationwide blackout?

That’s when two webs frontally hit Norman Osborn, closing his mouth and pinning him to the staircase railing. Simultaneously, a shot rang out.

Time stood still. Harry held his breath, waiting to feel the impact.

Instead, the red-suited person in front of him went down.

He screamed his friend’s name. He caught him in his fall, stumbled onto the floor with him. His candle died and darkness wrapped around them, leaving him with nothing but the weight of his bleeding friend, the sound of his laboured breaths and the taste of his own tears. “Peter. Talk to me.” He whispered into the darkness, finding his hand. “Talk to me. Talk to me.” He repeated, only feeling the heave of his chest in return. “You’re still breathing. We’ll be fine. I’m right here.” He’d never been so scared in his life. It was like being blind, with tied up hands, and all alone. He was trembling, cradling Peter against himself, his sobs ripping the silence. In the darkness, he managed to pull the mask off Pete’s face, making the breathing at least a little easier for the injured vigilante, and pressed kisses to his cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t do anything. It’s my fault. I should’ve –“ The words poured out, and Peter’s grip on his hand grew a little stronger.

“Shut up, Harry.” He interrupted, using whatever strength he had left to push out the next sentence. “Your father’s actions have nothing to do with you.”

“How can you say that?” Harry’s breath hitched when his other hand found the sticky bullet wound. In spite of himself, he pressed onto it to try and stop the bleeding.

Peter turned his head, finding his best friend’s mouth in the dark.

In addition to his salty tears, Harry now tasted blood. His sobs shook both of their bodies, he tried to steady himself and failed, tasting only Peter, Peter, Peter.

Suddenly, the chandelier above them flickered back to life. The radio stuttered and began playing music. The fridge hummed as it cooled down again. Disbelievingly, both of them turned their heads up. Light replaced the darkness they’d already grown so used to. Everything was going back to normal, except… only now Harry really saw the damage the bullet had done. All the while, the voice on the radio sang:

 

_We don’t care about the message or the rules they make_

_I’ll find you when the sun goes black._

_And you only live forever in the lights you make._

_When we were young we used to say,_

_That you only hear the music when your heart begins to break._

_Now we are the kids from yesterday._

 

Harry was fairly certain his heart was breaking at the look of the person he loved most splayed out before him, beaten up and bloody. The music seemed secondary then, even though the song said otherwise. He still hadn’t stopped crying, he doubted he ever would. And Peter, that idiot, weakly smiled up at him.

It wasn’t fair. Everything was coming back to life, while the only person who’d made an effort to fix all of this was barely clinging to it. “You made it.” Harry lied to him, squeezing his hand, “You made it and now you just need to hold on a little while longer.” Peter’s smile didn’t tell whether any of Harry’s words had gotten through to him. He was zoning out, drifting away, and Harry could do nothing to stop it.

He looked up to his father, who was bound to the railing with one hand. With the other, he was already stretching towards the weapon at his feet.

“Aren’t you ashamed?” Harry shouted, not moving because he needed to stop the bleeding somehow, “Look at what you did, and you still aren’t satisfied. You took everything from me. Isn’t that enough?” More tears streamed down Harry’s face.

Norman’s determination to reach the gun wasn’t interrupted until he was hit square across the back of his head with a 4000$ antique vase swung by none other than Aunt May.

She wasted only a second looking at her good work, then she hurried down the steps. “I came through the window after I heard shots. The police are on their way. Oh, Peter.” She was at her nephew’s side in no time. No questions were asked about the suit, the bloody mask on the floor, or Pete’s blood on Harry’s face and hands.

“You Parker boys always have to get in trouble, don’t you?” Tears were rimming her eyes as she attempted a smile, taking Peter’s hand.

“Aunt May?” He whispered weakly, turning his head towards the second constant in his life.

“I’m right here.” She replied, voice breaking. “We’re both here. It’ll be okay.”


End file.
